After She Left
by Defectibilitas
Summary: Set two years after Maria left the party, and in this version of events she never returned or has had any contact with the Von Trapp family since.
1. Chapter 1: Victor Kühn

**A/N** : This is my take on what happened after Maria left the Von Trapp's on the night of Elsa's party. I decided to change the year to when the real Maria Kutschera was living with the Von Trapp family as to avoid having to deal with WWII in this story (it just doesn't fit with my own timeline and ideas).

 _After She Left_ is set two years after Maria left the party, and in this version of events she never returned or has had any contact with the Von Trapp family since.

* * *

 **AFTER SHE LEFT**

 **Chapter 1: Victor Kühn**

 _Salzburg, November 1928_

"I can't."

"Why not?" Victor pressed, sensing Maria's poorly hidden hesitation.

"A ball at an upper class charity event? Have you seen the likes of me, Victor?"

"And you think they would have invited me if I hadn't been the head representative of the organization itself? Come with me, let's be the two odd ducklings in a crowd of upper-class snobs."

Maria smiled and took a sip of her lukewarm tea as she considered his offer. Victor Kühn*. If there were one person in the whole of Austria whom she believed could convince even _Michael Hainisch**_ to change his mind about a particular political stance or belief, then, no doubt, it would be Victor. But to go to such an event, to be amongst the upper class once more, it wasn't a decision to be made lightly.

"Picture yourself," he began, "in a gorgeous velvet dress. Young men throwing googly eyes at you all night, drool dripping from the corners of their mouths."

"You really don't know me at all," Maria laughed.

"A joke," he smirked. "I know you're worth twenty of those men on any given day. Maria, you have a heart of gold and the intelligence of a wise old owl, and when some rich Baroness approached our organization in Vienna a couple of weeks ago asking if she could host an event at her villa in support of the _Meldemannstraße dormitory***,_ I immediately thought of you. You could be of such tremendous help to us. We want to expand. Establish a dormitory right here in Salzburg. I remember how you were with those unfortunate souls when you were still a postulant. You care. I have yet to see a nun in that Nunnery whose heart bleeds for another soul like yours did back then."

"Do not speak ill of the sisters, Victor. They were there for me when no one else was, and they are still doing tremendous good in a world that needs many more people like them."

"I apologize," Victor said, his cheeks turning a faint shade of scarlet. "What I meant to say is that you understand. You know what it's like. Not all of them do."

And that she did.

Sweet Victor, a man whose lips never did stop moving. She had known him for a long time, knew his intentions were always sincere no matter how badly his words sometimes conveyed his mind's intentions.

They had met some years ago, not long after Maria had entered the abbey in 1924. A new postulant filled with trepidation, she had found an ally in Victor at the numerous charity events that the sisters organized throughout the year. Most of those events involved the poor and homeless of Salzburg, and sometimes Victor would be there to help when the sisters could not. He would come all the way from Vienna, a special friend of the Mother Abbess, and for some reason he had taken an instant liking to Maria.

"You're a ray of dying sunshine," he had said when they met. "The only postulant here that lives like an ensnared bird struggling to break free. You are caging such bright potential, my dear."

She had felt insulted by his observations. Joining the abbey had been the only wish that had ever come true for her. She had wanted to become a nun more than anything. Who did this stranger think he was? He didn't know her. That a friendship could possibly blossom despite a comment so nasty was unthinkable to her. But then it did. In the weeks that followed she would meet Victor at more Nonnberg Abbey charity events. They would talk, and somehow he managed to charm her into liking him. In hindsight, getting to know Victor meant that she now also knew that what he had sensed in her then, was what she had never been able to accept about herself until her time with the Von Trapp family.

It was on the very eve of Baroness Schräder's party that she understood what Victor had meant. Yes, she was a bird, ensnared in a net of her own making. Falling in love with an unattainable man had opened her eyes to what she now remembered as being one of the most heart-shattering experiences of her life. When she left the Von Trapp villa on that hot July night in 1926, she could not have known to what extend that choice would influence the decisions that would follow.

"I don't know, Victor. You of all people should know why I don't feel particularly thrilled at the prospect of attending a high society event."

"A charity ball, and you'll be in my constant glorious presence. Besides, Maria," his tone more serious now, "didn't the Mother Abbess always used to say that one should face ones fears, not avoid them?"

Maria huffed.

"The Mother Abbess also used to say that to look for trouble is to expect disaster."

"Ah! Such a wise woman. But all jokes aside, what do I have to do to convince you to come with me to this event?"

"Try begging," she smiled and shook her head. Victor had never asked her for anything, had always helped her when help was needed. It was true that he had no censor, but that didn't mean he didn't deserve a yes.

"I'll tell you what, I will go with you on one condition only."

Victor leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing to slits.

"That's not quite your style."

"For this one time it will have to do."

"Very well, pray, do tell, what is this condition of yours?"

"You will never ask me to attend a high society ball, event or party of any type ever again. My focus as a charity representative will be solely on the poor and homeless. I can't deal with the financial side of the organization. People in need, yes, but not the people who are generous enough to finance us."

Victor took a moment to consider this new yet unsurprising piece of information. Of course, he was aware of the fact that somewhere along the line Maria had developed a somewhat questionable and uncharacteristically negative attitude towards the rich. It was no coincidence to him that it so happened that she had developed this attitude not long after she had returned from a governess position at the home of Salzburg's most decorated Naval hero two summers ago. Captain Georg von Trapp, a wealthy upper class, high society man. A man, whom in her letters, Maria had spoken of with much frustration.

" _Stubborn donkey, won't listen to a word of reason,"_ she had written. Reminding Victor of another such donkey.

But he was also, _"a father still grieving the loss of a wife who had died four years previous. A woman whom the littlest children didn't even remember anymore."_

She had adored those children almost instantly, and they had adored her. But it was the Captain and the way Maria had written about him that made Victor suspect that her leaving the villa so abruptly had been directly connected to her sudden and unexpected change of mind about becoming a nun. These days Maria avoided the upper class like the plague, as though they reminded her of an unresolved issue that not even the Mother Abbess had been entirely privy to at the time.

"Did they hurt you?"

The question caught her off-guard.

"Who?"

"The von Trapp's. When you were their governess. Were they unkind to you?"

"Unkind? No, of course not! You know very well how much I adored those children."

She bit her lip, and stared at her hands. This was an unexpected change of subject; she couldn't remember Victor ever having spoken about what had transpired between her and the von Trapp's, yet, she also could not blame his mind for wandering in that direction given the topic of conversation. He knew her all too well.

"Yes, that's what you said at the time, yet you left them so abruptly."

"I had no choice. I truly wish it had all gone down differently, but I also know and accept that they have a mother now who cares for them as much as I did. And truth be told, that was why God sent me to them in the first place. To prepare them for a new mother."

"But you left long before they married."

"Yes."

An extensive silence fell between them. Victor studied her for a moment while Maria stared at the now empty teacups on the coffee table.

"Maria, I never asked you. I never pried, but I always wondered."

"Please Victor, can't we at least keep one of our conversations civil?"

"It's been two years. We've been friends for over four, shouldn't we be able to talk about these matters?"

"I'm trying to put it behind me. I want to forget, not be reminded."

She rose from her seat, took the two teacups from the table and made for the kitchen.

"And I applaud you for your efforts," Victor called after her, "but can you really put it behind you if you insist on treating the symptom rather than dealing with the problem. What happened between you two?"

Maria whirled back, her tone sharp.

"What do you mean, what happened?"

He had hit a nerve.

"You and the Captain."

"What exactly are you implying?"

"Your letters. You said so yourself. He changed. And then your whole attitude towards him did too. When you wrote about the puppet show and how the children voted for him to sing. I don't think you realized it yourself then, but there was something in the way you wrote about that moment. About him. When you returned to the abbey a couple of weeks later, I was there. We were preparing another charity event at the time and I saw you return. You were in quite a state, hardly even noticed who guided you to bed. I just assumed…."

" _Nothing_ like that _ever_ happened. He never did a thing…"

She vehemently shook her head before sitting back down, the teacups returned to their designated spots on the coffee-table.

"You thought for two years that he—?"

"What else was I to think?"

Maria felt the color drain from her face. Who else would have just assumed? The sisters too? Had she unwittingly disgraced the Captain's reputation by keeping her mouth shut for so long?

"It wasn't like that."

"But there was something," Victor stated, not letting the matter drop.

"It wouldn't have been appropriate. You know that."

"But did he feel the same way?"

"I don't know, perhaps."

"Why didn't you stay?"

"Victor, I really wish you would stop asking me these questions. It's got nothing to do with either your charity or the ball, and I don't have any answers for you. I left that night because I was frightened. I didn't know how to deal with feelings I had no control over, and the Baroness didn't make it any easier for me."

"Was she the one that caused you to run?"

"Victor!"

"Alright, alright," Victor raised his hands in surrender. "I will drop the matter for now, but one of these days you're going to have to tell me what happened. Confession is good for the soul, Fräulein," he mocked.

"Do you want me to come with you to the ball or not?"

He smiled.

"Very much so, my dear."

"Then stop teasing and tell me whose ball we're to attend."

* * *

 _* Victor Kühn is wholly and solely my own original character_

 _** Michael Hainisch was the the second President of Austria, after the fall of the monarchy at the end of WWI_

 _*** the Meldemannstraße dormitory was a public dormitory for men, which aimed at reducing the number of Bettgeher in Vienna between 1905 and 2003. Bettgeher were poor people with no fixed abode, often shift workers from the countryside, who paid a small fee for the use of a bed in a private house for a few hours during the day_


	2. Chapter 2: The Blue Stain

Thank you all so much for the follows and reviews!

And I'll have to beg your forgiveness for this being so short and maybe a little bit incoherent and badly written in some places. I didn't have much time to upload and check it because I have to go to work now, but I might edit it here and there in days to come.

Also, I made some changes to the first chapter you might want to check out. Nothing major, just some phrases and dialogue.

That's it for now.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 2: The Blue Stain**

 _Mondsee, December 1928_

Her name was Baroness _Emilie von Bach*_ , and she was peculiar in the most eccentric of ways. Milie, as most people called her, lived in an azure painted villa nicknamed _The Blue Stain_. Though despite its color _The Stain_ did not actually acquire its name when the villa was founded, but was rather obtained after an incident that most guests referred to as the _Konrad Krausser Catastrophe_.

"You see," Milie said when queried. "When I was a little girl Konrad used to be the family's painter. He would come down from Salzburg every four years or so to repaint the exterior. But, as is known to happen to many a good man, Konrad's worst enemy often appeared to him in the form of sobriety," at this point the women surrounding Milie nodded gravely, while the men shook their heads in mock disapproval, all of which gave Maria the distinct impression that this wasn't the first time that they'd heard the story.

"Either way, one day Konrad got on his ladder, climbed up to the uppermost window, took a big gulp from his hipflask and then somehow he lost his balance and fell down five stories."

A sudden outburst of cheers and glasses clinking together shattered the histrionic tension and made Maria jump with surprise.

"To Konrad!" The men hailed.

"May _Icarus_ ** have shone down upon him in his moment of uninhibited flight!" a tiny man with a bald head shouted.

"If only he had had wings!" another cheered, and they all burst into laughter.

Milie, quite unfazed by the crude interruption, directed her full attention to the women still listening.

"We had to paint the whole exterior blue after that incident. The red stains wouldn't come off the white, and to have painted it red would have been unthinkable to my mother, you understand why."

"What about Konrad?" a young woman dared to ask, the look of concern on her face betraying her novice status in a crowd of seasoned von Bach party guests.

Milie, obviously not used to such questions, looked a bit taken aback and blinked a few good times before answering.

"He died, of course. Who could survive such a fall?"

The young woman's face flushed a bright shade of red but she managed to hide most of her embarrassment, taking a much too big a gulp of wine before stalking off in the opposite direction of the ballroom, wide eyes scanning the crowd for kinder faces.

As the evening progressed Maria wasn't surprised to learn that Milie was an acquired taste. Similar stories about other unfortunate souls passing through the gardens and halls of _The Blue Stain_ were either whispered or spoken out loud, and laughter ensued from every new room she entered. Despite the fact that she had been under the impression that the ball was held in honor of _the_ _Meldemannstraße dormitory_ very few guests knew what the charity entailed, and neither did they understand why Maria and Victor insisted on talking about poor people with no fixed abode in Vienna.

"I probably should have warned you," Victor whispered in her ear at some point.

"This is normal?" Maria said, feeling some annoyance creep into her face after receiving yet another blank stare from a tall woman who was holding two champagne glasses and was reaching for a third.

"It happens frequently," Victor nodded, "and who can blame them really? Would you want to be reminded of the lonely, sad and miserable when there's a grand and glorious ball to attend?"

"I'm not sure. I've never not been aware of the lonely, sad and miserable."

Victor gave her a small but knowing smile.

"They might be quite self-centered, but they're a generous lot. When Milie approached the charity she made a big donation right on the spot that enabled us to realistically fantasize about a _dormitory_ in Salzburg. Most guests here will make a similar donation at the end of the evening while remaining completely ignorant about what they've just spent their money on."

"I see."

Maria looked in Milie's direction, the perfect hostess entertaining her perfect guests. Maybe this was what charity balls in Vienna were like. Another little something she would just have to get used to. _Just one ball_ , she reminded herself.

"I'm going to get some air," she turned to Victor.

"Don't be too long or you'll catch your death out there, it's harrowing."

"I'll be fine. Save me a dance."

"Count on it," he said and gave her a small reassuring smile.

 _The Blue Stain_ turned out to be much bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Three ballrooms had been cleaned out and decorated for the occasion and as many as five hundred guests from all over Austria had been invited to attend. Rooms and corridors were filled with people talking, laughing, dancing and singing, and as Maria past each and every one of them on her way to the gardens she found that her mood starting to improve considerably. The music, so lovely, and the guests dancing with such grace and dexterity that she couldn't help from staring.

There had been a time when she'd given anything to look so elegant on a dance floor. The fantasies of a young and impressionable girl. Much like the von Trapp children, but just a little less privileged. Brittle memories laced with hope and sadness. She'd been a different person back then.

Maria sighed and shifted her eyes to another pair of dancers, something about the way they moved arresting her attention.

One of her hands flew to her mouth.

Two youngsters now tall enough to have almost escaped her notice in a crowd of grown men and women dancing. They moved with the same grace, the same dexterity, but unlike the other dancers they were the only ones capable of eliciting a much stronger reaction from her that had very little to do with the way they danced. Oh, they had grown so much. He was sixteen now, almost a man, and he had surely outgrown his father in height. She, fifteen, a young woman, looking much too mature for her age, and receiving one too many glances from men at least twice her age.

She stared, frozen to the spot. Time could not possibly have tempted her to move. And what could she say if she approached them? How would they respond? She wasn't embarrassed to admit that what kept her in place was a deeply rooted fear of rejection. After all, she had been the one who had left them, and she had never bothered to explain why. The guilt and regret that accompanied that knowledge continued to affect her in more ways than she was comfortable to admit even to herself. Tonight there was no way around that knowledge, to hide from it was unthinkable.

"I'm sure they would be delighted to see you."

The hairs in the back of her neck stood on end, her heartbeat tripling in response to that long forgotten, yet, unmistakably familiar voice.

Of course he was here too.

"C-captain."

"Fräulein Maria," he said, inclining his head towards her, "It's been a long time."

* * *

* Emilie von Bach is _very, very, very_ loosely based on the Austrian musician and composer Emilie Maria von Bach (Maria Bach), who lived in Vienna in the 1920s. Her villa in Mondsee and her actions in this story are entirely fictional, i.e. a fabrication of my run rampant imagination

** Icarus is a figure from Greek mythology. He tried to escape from Crete by means of wings constructed from feathers and wax. He flew too close to the sun, the wax melted and Icarus fell into the sea and drowned. See also: Breughel's "Landscape with the Fall of Icarus _"_ , and William Carlos William's poem "Landscape with the Fall of Icarus", which was based on Breughel's painting.


	3. Chapter 3: Number Twelve

This isn't quite what you expected, but I'm working on it. Ha! Hope you enjoy this nonetheless, I had a lot of fun writing it.

Once again, thank you all for all of the reviews and follows. You're a lovely audience, and I'm beyond thrilled to see that people are reading and enjoying this story. It's humbling.

Mistakes will be corrected throughout the following week, (also I haven't changed anything about chapter 2 yet, but it's not quite to my liking so that might still happen.)  
 **Edit: made some minor changes to chapter 2. It won't hinder your understanding of the story if you fail to re-read it. :)**

Happy reading! :)

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Number Twelve**

 _Salzburg, November 1928 (One month before the party)_

"No."

"You misunderstand, Georg."

"I understand quite well that the sounds you just uttered should qualify as credible speech, though the reasoning of which goes way beyond my comprehension and as such it is my hope that you are capable of understanding that the dissenting sounds I uttered some moments ago should be interpreted as such."

Elsa stared unblinkingly.

"The answer is no," Georg sighed.

"I really wish you could behave a little less obtuse and be a bit more realistic. Maybe it's not such a bad idea to take me seriously for once."

"How am I to take such an _unrealistic_ request seriously?" he scoffed.

"You're being a bully and utter hypocrite," Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose, the beginnings of a migraine pounding behind her eyes.

"She is young. Eligible. She deserves to spread her wings and find out for herself what love-lost and love-gained feels like, or do you want her to end up like that nun you employed a couple of years ago?"

"That _nun_ ," his tone sharp with restrained anger, "probably knew more about spreading her wings and loving another than any of us. Elsa, You can't possibly expect me to put my daughter through the same atrocities my parents put me through at her age."

"I'm not doing anything of the sort, how can you be so incredibly shortsighted? They are decent people, _our_ people, and they would never do anything that would compromise her virtue."

Georg laughed, the sound cutting, ridiculing her steadfast belief in the trustworthiness of their friends. Which, honestly, she wasn't even sure she believed in herself, but nonetheless the point had to be made and she gave him one of her more poignant looks. He ignored her.

"You obviously don't know what drives privileged young men. She will end up in a room somewhere with faded yellow wallpaper trying to climb through an inescapable pattern of wordless insanity*. I won't stand for it. I won't be a part of it."

"You're making no sense."

" _No_!" he said, stressing the word with such definitiveness it finally dawned onto Elsa that she was trying to drive home a point with a type of logic that held no power of persuasion, that had held no power of any kind for a long time. Enough was enough; she no longer wished to continue this fight. It was becoming irksome, and her migraine had only grown worse, flashing lights already starting to obstruct her line of vision. If he wanted to ruin Louisa's chances at a happy marriage then she wasn't going to stand in his way.

"You know, darling. When we married I was under the impression that your children would at some point become _our_ children. That we would start making choices about their futures _together_ , and that we would keep our minds set on a better future for them despite the fact that we're living in a country that has completely fallen into disarray since the collapse of the monarchy. _You_ were the one who insisted they needed a mother - a woman - in their lives, and I've done nothing but try since we got married. But no matter how many suggestions I've put forth since, you have yet to take a single one seriously. Frankly, it's become a little insulting. What am I to you beside some trophy or garnish you show off whenever the occasion arises?"

She didn't wait for an answer, could muster no sympathy for the surprise that settled in the folds on his forehead, and as she turned away and left his office with a straight back she knew she had nothing to repent, never would.

The first Scotch only took the edge off a little, but then the second managed to dull his mind in a manner that reminded him of those first few weeks without his dear sweet Agathe. He had been on the edge of sanity on more than one occasion in the months following her death and for a few delirious weeks the alcohol had allowed for him to experience a new type of reality, one in which he had felt much calmer, and at times happy even. Or maybe the alcohol had just clouded his brain beyond healthy common sense and reality had had little to do with any of it. In hindsight, that did seem to be the more likely scenario of the two.

He had married Elsa in the fall of 1927, an immense wedding the likes of which the people in Mondsee still talked about when conversation in town ran dry and the tourist season died down. At the time he had been convinced that he had made the right choice. Even Max had been beside himself _, "I knew you would eventually see reason, Georg_. Such _a powerful mix of just the right amount of quantity versus quality. The both of you are going to make a lot of very powerful and rich people very, very unhappy. It's going to be such a joy to watch."_

The day itself had become a blur in Georg's memory despite the fact that only a year had past since. As he tried to recall the people that attended their wedding they now all looked the same to him, a mass of black top hats and colorful evening wear. The music familiar but impossible to recall. _Edelweiss_ appeared as a flicker of a memory in his mind's eye, but no, he was confusing that night with another. He had spoken to many old acquaintances, his and Agathe's, friends from long ago and friends from not so long ago, but the conversations had all been of a similar topic, dry and even tasteless at times.

" _Congratulations, Georg."_

" _Thrilled to see you so happy again."_

" _She is beautiful."_

" _It must have been hard to find love again after such an incredible loss."_

" _That Baroness Schräder, such a fine specimen."_

" _You look well my old friend."_

" _I hear she is a widow too."_

" _The children! Come look, Albwin. See how much they've grown?!_

" _You two have so much in common."_

" _Your second daughter, she looks so much like her mother._

" _Are you moving to Vienna?"_

" _The most beautiful wedding I've ever attended."_

" _Such a fine looking couple you make."_

" _Have you found a suitor for Liesl, yet? I hear Baron von Beckenbauer is looking for a wife. I could arrange an invitation to one of his parties if you're interested?"_

" _Gretl, such a tall girl. Definitely not a baby anymore."_

" _Are you going to start a family of your own soon?"_ and so on, and so forth.

The memory made his stomach knot with nausea and his fingers tingled a little, maybe he couldn't hold his liquor as well as he used to anymore. He was growing old, wearier too, his mind numbing too quickly after just a couple of sips nowadays.

Elsa had been right about one thing, though. His parental powers were still as much his as they had been on the day when they had gotten married, and he had had as much intention of surrendering them to Elsa then as he did now. She wasn't a terrible mother. No, that wasn't why he continued to act like the single authoritative parent. Elsa could hold her own in an argument with the children, could even reprimand them without much resistance, and at some point she had even gained their respect. A feat he hadn't expected she'd been capable of achieving. But above all he had been amazed by the fact that his children hadn't chased her away the way they had done with the twelve governesses that had preceded Elsa. On the other hand, they might never truly have tried.

He probably had Number Twelve to thank for that.

Number Twelve…

"Fräulein Maria," he said, giving voice to a name he hadn't spoken out loud for over a year. The power it still held over everybody in this household - over him - was unmistakable. He tried to shake the name and face from his mind, but was surprised to find that this time he couldn't. For such a long time she had just been Number Twelve, but now that he had spoken her name it was hard to shake the memories that accompanied it. Unlike his wedding he remembered Fräulein Maria as well as he remembered the births of his children. From the day she arrived until the day she left, and then also some other unpleasant days.

" _She abandoned us!"_ Louisa had cried out about a month after it had dawned onto all of them that Fräulein Maria was not ever going to return or say a proper goodbye. He remembered it well. On that particular day they'd collectively let go of that last sliver of hope. It had been a very bad day for all them, himself included.

" _We were just seven annoying children to her. She obviously didn't care about any of us. And if we're to be just seven children then why should we treat her any differently? She should be Number Twelve. Number Twelve abandoned us just like the other eleven did. Can't you see that?!"_

Not one of his children had had the heart to respond. They'd felt the heartbreak, same as her, and Louisa had burst into tears at that point, every single one of her tears making a permanent dent in his already battered heart. He'd pulled her into a hug. Allowed her to grief with an intensity he envied. His children weren't the only ones who had given up hope and completely lost her that day.

Afterwards he often debated with himself whether or not he should have looked for her. Find out what had become of her when she'd returned to the abbey. But he knew the answer to that question all too well. She had taken her vows and then God had taken her, she had become a nun. That is what had happened, what she had wanted. So why bother going after her? How could he have convinced a heart to love him when that heart already belonged to God? How could he possibly compete with that?

He had proposed to Elsa.

At least Elsa's heart belonged to him, and even if he didn't love her quite as much as she might love him he was fond of her. Besides, the children needed a mother. Two plus two equals four, and it had been just that, a decision founded in logic. Their union made sense to everybody he talked to, everybody but his children.

From then on Fräulein Maria had become Number Twelve.

It was easier that way. For all of them.

A knock on the door forced Georg back to the present. He quickly stashed the bottle of Scotch and glass back in his desk drawer, the glass not quite empty. Frau Schmidt would probably reprimand him for his carelessness in the morning, but he'd rather be reprimanded than get caught drinking in the early afternoon.

"Come," he answered, his voice a little shaky still.

A blonde head appeared in the doorway and for a moment his thoughts returned to Agathe. She did look so much like her mother.

"Louisa, what can I do for you?"

"I just talked to mother," she began, a hint of hesitation in her voice.

She was the only one who actually called Elsa mother.

"I heard you don't approve."

"You heard right."

"I want to go."

"It's not your decision to make, darling," he said, his tone a little softer.

"I was thirteen when we attended mother's ball two years ago, you let all of us stay up late then."

"We held that party here, Louisa, and you were all in bed by ten if I recall correctly. Milie von Bach's parties are not quite as child friendly as -"

"I'm not a child anymore!" she interrupted, "Why can't you see that?! I'm nearly sixteen, only ten months younger than Friedrich, and you treat him like a man. You allowed Liesl to move to another country last year, she was just seventeen and a half! Why can't you let me make my own decisions, like them? You did at my age! Mother did too! She married her first husband at eighteen!

"Louisa!"

"It's just one party, father. Please," she pleaded, her blue eyes so much like her mother's when she looked at him like that.

He needed a moment to think. Two moments, the Scotch still fogging the part of his brain that was supposed to be in charge of responsible decision-making.

"The only way I'm letting you go to that party is with a chaperone," he heard himself say, his mind not quite agreeing with that statement, but he'd already spoken. How could he possibly take it back?

"A chaperone?" Louisa made a face as though she'd just eaten something quite disgusting.

Maybe a chaperone wasn't such a bad idea after all, it might dissuade her from wanting to go.

"Friedrich," he once again heard himself say, his mind the last to know.

Friedrich? Really? Why yes, that wasn't such a bad idea at all. She wouldn't ever agree to that.

"Friedrich?" her face assumed the sourest look he had ever witnessed her pull.

"He's got two left feet! He can hardly dance."

"It's Friedrich, or no party, and you both leave at ten, be in bed by eleven." Georg stated, more determined than he'd ever been about anything in his life.

She didn't reply for a while, mulling over the pros and cons of such cruel conditions set by a tyrannical father who wasn't actually all that tyrannical, but in this moment the word fitted the punishment. If she attended the party with Friedrich she might be able to persuade him to let her dance with other men. He would not be too keen on dancing with her all night anyway, not if she stepped on his toes the entire time, and then blamed him for it. It could work. And if they arrived around seven she could surely settle for three hours of dancing with some of the most beautiful men she would ever meet in her life. And honestly, it wouldn't be that bad. She would be able to go. She would be able to attend her first proper ball.

"Fine," she sulked, unconvincingly.

"Fine?"

"Yes, I'll let Friedrich chaperone me around and we'll arrange for Franz to pick us up at ten," she beamed, letting the pretense fall and skipped around the desk to give him a hug and a kiss.

"Thank you so much, father!"

Then she turned around and left, Georg's eyes on her retreating form, not quite sure what had just happened.

She'd played him, and he hadn't been as clever as he'd thought.

When exactly had the apprentice outgrown the master?

He was at a loss.

The bottle of Scotch remained untouched in his desk for the next three months.

* * *

* See Charlotte Perkin Gilman's short story _The Yellow Wallpaper_.


	4. Chapter 4: She Runs

A/N: I'm so, so sorry for this. This turned out much darker than I intended for it to be.

Just so you know, I will make this right somehow. I promise. I swear.

Thank you for the continuous interest in this story. I do enjoy writing it a lot and it's always nice to see that other people enjoy reading it!

(As always, any mistakes I might find throughout the week will be corrected.) This chapter has been revised and updated on 29th of June. Significant changes have been made to the last part of the chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: She Runs**

 _Mondsee, December 1928_

He caught sight of her through the glass doors that led to the third ballroom, a mob of sandy blonde hair moving in the direction of the patio doors. She appeared in no particular hurry as she intermittently slowed her pace, her eyes drawn to the arms and feet moving in fluid synchronicity across the dance floor. Enchanted as much by the music as the dancers it was only a matter of time before she surrendered her full attention to the spectacle and stopped to watch.

He studied her then, took the time to make sure that it really was her and that he wasn't just projecting a familiar face onto an unfamiliar one; the way a stranger's smile or frown might be reminiscent of another.

It was the familiar chiffon blue that ultimately solidified his suspicions, had caught his attention when she first appeared in his periphery. Though Georg didn't care much for fashion, had hardly the patience to tell the difference between a champagne dress and an afternoon tea dress, he did remember _that_ dress. She had worn it but once in his presence, had made it herself from the material he had bought for her, and it had been he who had sent all the dresses (including that one) to the Abbey about three months after she'd left. Despite the dress, she looked different now, her hair had grown - just shy of touching her shoulders, and her face appeared more mature, a hint of makeup accentuating subtle changes. Such delicate differences but big enough to instill momentary doubt. He wasn't wrong though; it was Fräulein Maria. His surprise was great, the sudden anxiety genuine.

She had stopped swaying to the music, her eyes transfixed on something on the other side of the ballroom. One of her hands flew to her mouth and he knew it could only mean one thing. He approached her then, before his mind could trick his feet into moving into the opposite direction. He reached out, intend on making his presence known, but then thought the better of it, stood back and said:

"I'm sure they would be delighted to see you."

She physically stiffened, her back straight and rigid as realization dawned, and she whirled around.

"C-captain."

"Fräulein Maria." He inclined his head, not quite sure what had possessed him to approach her like that.

"It's been a long time."

"Y-yes," she stuttered, her face flushing a shade deeper. He noted how the crimson spread down her neck and then disappeared beneath the blue fabric.

"You look well."

"I-I," she scrabbled for an answer, his eyes probably too intently upon hers as she racked her brain. And he too was trying to make sense of the absurdity of it all. After almost precisely two years here they were and oh, the irony of the situation didn't escape his notice. The very attire he wore, the gloves and the medals on his suit, it was as though not a moment had past, they were back where they'd left off two years ago.

"I've been well," she confirmed, having gathered her momentum. "And you?"

"Splendid," he said.

"Only slightly surprised to see you here, I didn't realize the Abbey allowed for its novices to attend parties such as these."

"I'm with the charity," she said, as though that explained it.

"The _Meldemannstraße dormitory_?"

"Yes! You've heard of it!"

"Of course, it's why we're all here tonight, isn't it?"

A forced smile crept upward, and she briefly shifted her eyes away, the color spreading across her cheeks once more, while his fascination remained undeterred.

"Yes well, you'd actually be surprised how very few people know why we are all here tonight."

He smirked, couldn't quite help himself. He understood all too well the implications behind those words, and couldn't help but share her disdain. Elsa loved these sorts of parties, held a special affinity for all things Milie, while Georg failed to understand the appeal, not as enamored with high-society as he used to be.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you," she said, too politely.

"They've grown so much," she nodded in the direction of the dance floor. Friedrich and Louisa had stopped dancing just then and appeared to be in the midst of a heated argument; Friedrich talking animatedly and pointing at his shoes while Louisa stood with her arms crossed, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"In body yes, in mind, not so much," he joked while they watched Friedrich stomp off and away from the dance floor, leaving Louisa looking quite pleased with herself.

Maria bit her lip in an attempt to hide her smile, the scene an all too familiar sight.

"I see you kept the dress," the Captain said, abruptly changing the subject.

"Oh!" she looked. The dress. Made of the material he had bought for her, the inappropriateness not lost on her.

"I kept a few, but donated most of them to the poor."

"The Abbey didn't confiscate them?"

"No," she said, twisting her thumb around in her hand.

"Odd," he remarked.

"I left the convent shortly after my return."

He didn't answer, his eyes on Louisa, she had found herself a new dance partner. A young tall man with short auburn hair kissed her hand and led her to the dance floor. Elsa would be pleased; he knew the boy well, the son of the infamous Baron Vonhof. Georg made a mental note to take the boy aside later to lecture him on the inherent impropriety of dancing with a child half his age.

"You left the convent," he said, more to himself, his eyes still fixed on Louisa and the young man. They twirled around the dance floor, disappearing in a flurry of glittering dresses and finely pressed suits.

"I couldn't stay."

"Yet, you missed your life at the abbey."

She didn't answer.

"You could have said good bye," he looked at her then. And though he had always known, somehow, he had never before allowed himself to believe it. He had played the part of the fool remarkably well. To have believed that she had wanted to dedicate her life to her faith; that her leaving had had everything to do with God and nothing with him. It had been such a small but important lie at the time.

"Captain, I —"

"It broke them."

"I never meant—"

"Why did you leave if not to follow in your Sister's footsteps?"

"I wanted to come back," her voice small, barely above a whisper. "But when I read the wedding announcement in the papers I knew that I shouldn't and-"

"Georg, darling! There you are!"

Impeccable timing.

"Elsa," he said, his voice hoarse. He tucked at the fabric around his neck, able to release the tension as he swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"You remember Fräulein Maria?"

The look of surprise that materialized on Elsa's face was as artificial as the lily flower in her hair. She had undoubtedly seen them talk; probably even overheard the last bits of their conversation before she'd decided to interrupt.

"But of course, it is Fräulein Maria! I hardly recognized you, dear. Hasn't she changed, Georg?"

He nodded, noting again how her hair was now long enough for her to have pinned it back to one side. His eyes fell on the pin, grabbling for his attention. A tiny ornament sticking from her hair, a small white flower attached to the steel. _Edelweiss_. She caught his stare.

"It's good to see you, Baroness. I hear you are married now."

Elsa pulled him closer, squeezed his arm and then twined her fingers through his. He had half the mind not to shake her from his side.

"A little over a year now."

"Then my congratulations are long overdue."

"But appreciated all the same," she said and smiled.

"Have you spoken to the children yet? I'm sure they would be so happy to see you again."

Maria's eyes darted to the dance floor; the Baroness not missing a beat followed her line of sight.

"Oh! There she is! Louisa, darling!"

Startled by the sudden interruption, Louisa accidently stepped on the foot of the young man she was dancing with. Apologizing profusely, it took a few more moments for her to avert her attention to the Baroness, but when she did her eyes found Maria's instead.

The color drained from her face, a whirlwind of silent emotion passing between the two women as both stood frozen, unable to speak.

"Louisa? Come darling, say hello to your old governess."

She moved, slowly, calculated steps on slippery marble.

"What is _she_ doing her?" the question directed at her father.

"Don't be rude, child," Elsa chastised. "You must be happy to see each other again after such a long time."

"Happy?" she stated, her voice dripping with contempt.

Maria gave a weak smile, the scorned girl who had once looked at her with such adoration and love now unable to stand the sight of her. And despite having been prepared for this, having known that if ever she saw one of the children again their reaction might be less than pleasant, the rapid passion with which Louisa had spoken was something she could not have prepared herself for. Not even if she'd tried. It hurt. More than she could tell.

"How can she—" she turned to Maria, "you be here?!"

"Watch your tone," the Captain warned.

She crossed her arms and gave her father a pointed look.

"Fräulein Maria is here as a representative of the _Meldemannstraße_ charity," the Captain said.

"Charity?" Elsa looked as confused as the other guests at the mention of a charity.

"She merely wishes to say hello," he continued, looking at Louisa sternly, warning her as much with his eyes as his tone to not test his temper any further.

Maria, having plucked up her courage, interrupted.

"That is very kind of you, Captain, but there's no need. I can see that my presence here is causing you some discomfort. It was very nice to see you again, Louisa. Now if you'll excuse me," she nodded to each of them, then turned around and left. Her hands instinctively went to her throat as she quickly made her way across the dance floor, bumping into a few guest, ignoring the Captain's haunting voice calling after her.

Louisa turned to her father, disappointment shimmering in her eyes, while her voiced dripped with sarcasm when she said:

"What did you expect, father? She runs. That's what she does best."


	5. Chapter 5: Bastian Kracht

**A/N:** I decided to go into a different direction with Maria's occupation. The schoolteacher angle has been done well enough by other people over the years, and since I have no possible way around Maria meeting the children at either an elementary or a high school in Salzburg I can at least make sure they don't run into her at a small (and entirely fictitious) library on the outskirts of town. In my story Maria Kutschera never attended _the State Teacher's College for Progressive Education_ in Vienna. Instead she joined the abbey when she was old enough to do so. Thus, having received limited education in her early life.

Also, I think I'm going to continue going back and forth between the past and present like this with every new chapter. So, (if you didn't already) you'll be able to sort of predict what will come next in terms of linearity (or in this case non-linearity).

I made some changes to chapter 4 in the past week. Added some new bits of dialogue because I wasn't too pleased with the pacing and the automated responses of the characters, it felt a bit forced and hurriedly paced in the last part of that chapter. The ending is still the same, though. So, if you don't re-read it it's still fine, just thought it was worth mentioning.

Once again, thank you all for your lovely comments. Your enthusiasm and kindness continues to humble me. The mad(hatter) writer in me loves you!

Anyway, enough of this.

Go forth and read!

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Bastian Kracht**

 _Salzburg, November 1926_

"Credentials?"

"Uh…"

"No credentials?" the pen in the librarian's hand flew over her notebook paper with pinpoint precision. "No job."

"I'm a quick study," Maria replied, stepping closer to the desk. "I took a typing course a couple of years ago. I can type up to ninety words per minute."

"We do everything by hand here," the librarian said, unimpressed.

"I'm well read," she tried again. "I know the bible from cover to cover, and I've always had a special fondness for the _Biedermeier_ poets*. Their secular work is incredibly inventive, they were way ahead of their time in many respects."

The pen halted above an undotted I, dark eyes regarding Maria over the rime of half moon spectacles. Frau Hermina Welcker, head librarian of a small library on the outskirts of Salzburg, was, in every sense of the word, the personification of every cliché that had ever been written about librarians everywhere. With a no-nonsense type of attitude and a sharp pencil sticking out of a tightly knotted bun that sat on top of her oval shaped head no child or adult would ever think to address Frau Welcker with anything but polite deference.

"You know your _Biedermeier_ poets?"

"Many of them."

"Favorites?"

" _Annette von Droste-Hülshoff_ **," Maria answered without skipping a beat.

A hint of a smile appeared on Frau Welcker's face.

"Ah, "Das Spiegelbild"" she said, the pen forgotten next to her notebook:

"Es ist gewiß, du bist nicht Ich,  
Ein fremdes Daseyn, dem ich mich  
Wie Moses nahe, unbeschuhet,  
Voll Kräfte die mir nicht bewust,  
Voll fremden Leides, fremder Lust;"

"Gnade mir Gott, wenn in der Brust  
Mir schlummernd deine Seele ruhet!" Maria finished, remembering the second part as clearly as the morning prayers at Nonnberg.

"A poignant poem," Frau Welcker said, "I've always been quite fond of it."

"So have I."

"Hmm," Frau Welcker narrowed her eyes and tapped the bottom of her lip with the same meticulous precision as she handled her pen.

"You mentioned that the abbey sent you?"

"Not exactly," Maria answered. "The Mother Abbess advised me to apply for a job here. Herr Osswald – one of the county's gardeners," she clarified, "said that you are looking for a junior librarian."

Frau Welcker shifted in her seat, closed her notebook, and knitted her hands together, finally regarding Maria with careful attention.

"The Mother Abbess is correct. A position has recently opened up here, although, I'm not entirely convinced you would be suited for the job. You have no credentials, a sparse education and a young disposition; I can't possibly imagine why you would want to spend your days among dusty books in a small library. The young have little regard for literature these days."

"I spent most of my childhood with my nose inside a book when I was nowhere to be found outside. I would be more than happy to be in the company of books I have not yet read once more."

"Would you?"

"There's nothing in the world I would rather be doing right now."

Frau Welcker pursed her lips, an unreadable expression on her face. Then she pushed herself up from her chair, and beckoned Maria to follow her further along the winding path that lay beyond her small office.

"As you have undoubtedly noticed this is a humble place, the second floor even more crammed than the ground floor, and most shelves have not been dusted since my great-grandfather opened up his collection to the public in 1827. It will be your task to care for these books, dust their pages and clean the shelves they stand upon with the same love and patience you would handle your own child if you had one."

"You-you're employing me?" Maria said, baffled by the woman's sudden change of heart.

"On trial basis, but of course, I do expect you to exercise stern vigilance during that time. Any book that is returned in a less than acceptable state will be reimbursed by its abuser, no excuses tolerated."

Despite her crass manner Maria recognized the urgency with which Frau Welcker spoke. Her books were her life and though she generously shared them with the world, they were not to be handled carelessly. It reminded her of Sister Berthe, a woman who would probably be able to appreciate Frau Welcker's affinity for precision and preservation if ever they met. Although Maria had learned to respect that trait in Sister Berthe, she found herself disagreeing with Frau Welcker's position on the preservation of books.

No.

Books needed to live. Breathe. Not be admired from afar gathering dust on rotting shelves. In Maria's opinion, the more battered a book looked - torn pages and smudged letters - the more it fulfilled its true destiny; to be read with reckless abandon over and over again.

"You will have the weekends and every second Thursday off. Your wages will be modest, but, if you're not a big spender, you will most likely be able to live a most comfortable life. My budget allows for me to employ an educated junior librarian. By those standards you'll be earning more than most people in your position."

"Thank you, madam"

"Don't be silly, call me Frau Welcker. Questions?"

Maria smiled, and for the first time in months a sudden lightness surged through her, chased the shadows from her mind and illuminated the probable instead of the impossible. She had a job now. She could breathe a little lighter, worry less about the past.

"When do I start?"

* * *

 _Salzburg, March 1927_

In the months that followed Maria quickly gained Frau Welcker's trust. Despite the fact that their position on the preservation of books continued to differ Maria managed to respect her employer's wishes as best as her nature would allow her to. There was, of course, the occasional torn page that she conveniently failed to notice, smudged letters in Austrian classics and a few crumbs of bread that still remained hidden between the folds of a large volume on _Mozart_ 's life. Childish as it seemed Maria celebrated these small victories of rebellion in secret delight, relishing the simple pleasures that life in a library had to offer. In truth, she hadn't been this content in a long time, and more so, she appreciated that there was no underlining animosity between her and Frau Welcker despite their differences. After a while, a friendship blossomed between them, and Frau Welcker soon trusted Maria enough to leave her in charge of the library for a couple of afternoons every month.

"Herr Henlein asked me to peruse some books he found on his mother's attic. He wants me to make sure that they are appropriate and devoid of worth before he donates them to the library. I will most likely be gone all afternoon."

Maria nodded, blowing some dust off a relatively new copy of Kafka's _Der Process***._

"I'll be here," she said, waving the book in the air, "with Kafka."

Frau Welcker gave her a rare look of approval.

"Excellent choice. Auf wiedersehen, dear."

"Auf wiedersehen," she echoed and then placed the book back on its proper shelf as soon as she heard the library door closed.

"Sorry, Kafka. Maybe some other day."

Music had been plaguing her head all morning, a tune buried on the surface of her subconscious demanding to break from her mind. And now that Frau Welcker was gone she could give into its cries. Besides it was close to noon, and there was not a soul in the library. Who would mind her playing?

Her guitar, always within arm's reach, was quickly tuned and soon the music vibrated past her fingers, spilled from her mouth, a peaceful harmony on a quiet spring day. A tinge of sweetness mixed with the freshness of a late afternoon shower, that's what the song sounded like to her. She sang whatever words came to mind, knitting sentences together without thought or inhibition. So entangled in a web of melody was she that she almost failed to notice the pitchy chime of the brass bell that hung above the library door announcing a new visitor.

She abruptly stopped singing, her fingers still on the strings.

"Oh, oh! Don't stop on my account," a tall young man with raven black hair stood in the door opening.

Maria rose from her chair, her guitar back behind the small desk.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I-I'm, well, no."

"No?"

"I j-just," he stammered. "Honestly, that was beautiful," he motioned to her guitar, and took off his top hat. "I admit I heard you play and sing from across the street and the sound enchanted me so that I just had to find out where it came from."

His thick moustache bounced up and down his upper lip as he spoke, an almost comical sight, but in truth just a poor attempt to hide the youthfulness that his bright blue eyes instantly betrayed. He was her age, Maria could tell. She smiled.

"Thank you," she said. "But I'm not actually allowed to play music inside the library, so I would very much appreciate it if you could not mention this to my employer, Frau Welcker."

"Of course, of course," the man said, nodding his understanding.

"I'm just a mere passerby."

He stared at her for a moment, and she felt a self-conscious chill crawl up her neck.

"You have a lovely voice," he finally said, and then to Maria's horror his moustache detached from his upper lip on one side. He didn't seem to notice, and interpreted the horrified look on her face as a humble acknowledgement of his compliment.

"Well," he said, "I'd better be going."

"Sir," Maria stopped him. "Your moustache," she pointed at her own lip then covered her hand over her mouth to hide her amusement.

"Oh darn!" his hand flew to his mouth, "it does that all the time."

"Uhm," Maria bit her lip.

"It's part of a costume," he explained. "I forgot to take it off after dress rehearsals."

"You're an actor?"

"I'm with the traveling Shakespeare Company."

She'd heard of them. They travelled from town to town in caravans all around the country, much like the circuses, except that the Shakespeare Company travelled with actors and musicians instead of clowns and animals.

"I've heard of you, you're supposed to be quite good if I'm to believe the papers."

"We try to remain humble despite our success, but it is true that the papers have been quite positive about our performances so far. Thank you."

"Shakespeare's work has always been somewhat of a guilty pleasure of mine," Maria admitted. "Although, Christopher Marlowe wrote lovely plays too."

"Ah, yes," he nodded and smiled, his moustache back in place, "who can resist the moral ambiguities in _Doctor Faustus_?"

"Precisely," she agreed.

Silence fell between them, discomfort unavoidable, lying thick in the air between the two strangers. Then:

"You should come."

"What?"

"Come see our new production. As an admirer of Shakespeare, I insist. You'll enjoy it."

"I have no ticket."

"You'll be my special guest, I will arrange a seat for you."

"You don't even know me," she shook her head, "I don't even know you!" the invitation seemed preposterous.

"To know ones voice is to know ones soul," he quoted, putting one hand on his chest.

"Shakespeare?"

"No, Bastian Kracht."

"Who?"

"Nice to meet you," he extended his hand, "My name's Bastian Kracht."

Maria laughed, his enthusiasm infectious.

"Maria," she said, and shook his hand, "Maria Kutschera."

* * *

* The Biedermeier period refers to the work in the fields of literature, music, the visual arts and interior design between 1815 and 1848, and contrasts strongly with the romantic era preceding it.

** Annette von Droste-Hülshoff was a German 19th century Biedermeier writer/composer who lived between 1797 and 1848. Her work is best described as a transition between Romanticism and Realism as she pursued her own ideals and did not care much for the conventions of her time.

*** Known in English as "The Trial" by Franz Kafka.


	6. Chapter 6: Claiming Ignorance

A/N: I should have posted this way back in July, but alas, it's December now and I don't have the power to turn back time (no matter how hard I wish I did).

Hope there are still people reading this story, and if not, well… what's to say?

No historical information or literary references in this one, mostly just angst and fluff and more angst, because I was in the mood for both today.

Will return to the more standard form of writing in the following chapters (which hopefully won't take me another five months to write, but since university is an incredibly demanding creature one can never know for sure).

Will edit this chapter throughout the coming week, since there still might be some grammar and spelling errors, but I'm out of time now, so even if I wanted to check for errors my demanding schedule won't stand for it.

Hope you like this nonetheless! Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Claiming Ignorance**

 _Mondsee, December 1928_

Another door lay cloaked behind a heavy Victorian curtain in the second ballroom of _The_ _Blue Stain_. She only happened upon it by accident, when, through no fault of her own, she knocked over a small, almost undetectable cabinet at the far end of the room, and as if God was testing her luck a figurine of the Virgin Mary toppled over, disappearing beneath the drapes on the other side.

"Typical," she muttered while she reclaimed her balance, steadying herself with both hands upon the cabinet. Clumsiness just couldn't be solely ascribed to her character, part of it _must_ have been hereditary somehow.

When she pushed the curtain aside to retrieve the figurine an old doorknob sprang into view, its worn copper reflecting her own image back at her with distorted clarity. Surprised she stared at her features for a few moments. A fading crease in her forehead showed that she must have been frowning an awful lot more tonight than was common for her.

She grabbed the knob and twisted it sideways.

The evening air stung her eyes and cheeks with the force of a thousand needles launched all at once, but the sharp pain was a welcome relief, forced her mind back to the present, if only for a moment. The evening frost seemed to have already slipped across the fountain that took up most of the center of the backyard, a statue of Cupid stood perched in the middle, pointing a bow and arrow at the sky.

She snorted.

"Typical."

If signs had a sense of humor, then surely by now she was the butt of all its jokes.

But the garden could not be blamed, nor those who maintained and decorated it. In fact, it looked quite nice, picturesque even, every detail properly cared for, thought out, and even in the death of winter the frost gifted the trees and fountains with a magical white glow, as though fairies were about to burst from Cupid's arrow and dance around the lonely leafless trees that stood perched tall and high just a little ways away beyond the patio. She could almost hear the beckoning cries of the small frozen puddles that surrounded the fountain. She would have glided across their surface with careless abandon if she had had half a mind, it wouldn't have mattered. She might be closer to thirty than twenty now, but somehow she still found herself climbing trees and scrapping knees on warm evenings in the summer. It showed. Her dresses looked worse for wear, had more tears in them than those of the neighbor children she past on her way to church on Sundays. She couldn't help herself. It was hard to conform to social norms when what was in her heart refused to obey. But that had always been her vice. Her heart. That, and the mouth that went with it.

It didn't matter now.

Tonight the puddles and fairies cried and pleaded but she had no intention of heeding their calls, for once, her heart just wasn't in it, and before the fantasy could truly take hold it shattered.

Instead, trepidation seeped to the front, she imagined that if her heart had a voice it would be screaming at her right now, and it would be right to do so. As it turned out, the naivety she thought she had lost the night of that faithful party had only lain dormant. Her mind's tricks finally exposed; as it appeared that the fire had never been extinguished, nor the ashes scattered. Somehow, it had been reduced to a small undetectable flicker of a flame, and it had hidden itself deep within her subconscious, waiting, gathering momentum. To find it was still there; she resented it. If only she could tear it from her chest, throw it on the floor and leave it to wilt and wither in the bitter cold.

Too late.

"Gullible fool," she said, startled to find she had spoken the words out loud.

She remained where she was for a few more moments, allowing the frost to capture her hands, numbing her fingers and toes.

Suddenly, the main doors to her left on the other side of the patio burst open, and before Maria could fully comprehend who or what was the cause, she quickly stepped back into the shadows, her back against the glass door, her intention not so much that of eavesdropping rather than not wanting to be seen.

"Georg, don't you dare walk away from me!"

A sharp intake of breath.

Seconds later the Captain stepped out onto the patio, closely followed by a distraught looking Baroness Schräd- von Trapp, whichever designation she went by these days.

Reflexively, as to prevent her exhalations from becoming too visible, Maria put a hand over het mouth.

It was impossible to slip back inside now, that is, if she wished to remain invisible, which seemed to her to be the wiser choice of the two considering the state of the two people in front of her.

"What are you playing at, Elsa?" the Captain boomed, pacing left and right, barely able to contain his visibly growing agitation. She'd seen him like this before. In fact, she had been on the receiving end of one of these outbursts once, and though he looked daunting now, not in the least eligible to taunt, he hadn't fazed her back then. If anything, his intimidations had only fueled her back then. A pretty house and numerous decorations did not a good father make, and she had done more than just poke holes in that mighty armor of his that afternoon. But things had been different then. He had been different.

"Whatever do you mean?" the Baroness retorted, and though her figure was shrouded in darkness, even Maria, from her position, could tell her surprise was more than a little feigned.

"Don't claim ignorance, not this time."

"Ignorance?" she spat. "I? You invented the word, darling. I'm only playing the part you demanded for me to play."

"What are you talking about?"

"You think I don't know?"

"Elsa," his tone shifted.

"You look at her the same way you did two years ago, and you accuse me of claiming ignorance? You are rich, but surely not in the material sense of the word," she mocked.

"You surely are delusion, my dear."

"Am I?" the Baroness said, a whisper but just loud enough for Maria to hear.

"Tell me, Georg, would you have married me if your dear little Fräulein hadn't scampered back to the abbey that night?"

"Fräulein? Maria?"

"Yes, Maria."

"What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"Don't you dare deny it, Georg," the desperation in the Baroness's voice was palpable, on the edge of breaking as she continued:

"I've tried for so long. No, I dare say I've done more than tried. I may not be the Fräulein that won your children's hearts, nor yours, but after dedicating two years of my life to trying, and pleasing, and bending over backwards, I do think, if not for the children, I've earned more than _just_ your dishonesty. So please, Georg, have the decency to not lie to me."

Maria's head was spinning, the numbness in her feet and fingers gone as her heart pounded, her body flushed with embarrassment, apprehension, excitement… she did not want to be privy to this conversation, resented to hear his reply as much as not being able to stand not knowing. If only she could slip inside now, leave, and let the only witnesses to this argument be God, the stars and the moon.

"I married you," he finally said.

A beat.

"What I might or might not have done is irrelevant."

If the Baroness had responded it might have been a whisper, a soft intake of breath, maybe. But Maria could see her no longer, and she heard no reply. After a few seconds the only sound that broke the silence was the click clacking of retreating footsteps going back inside.

Then, all was quiet again.

She dropped her hands, her breath visible to all, but she no longer cared, wasn't even sure if the Captain had gone back inside with the Baroness. The tremendous guilt of having overheard their conversation set in almost instantly, but then their voices had been loud enough for any of the guests inside to have overheard. His denial had come in the form of a deferral, not exactly a confirmation, but neither could it be called a contradiction.

"How much of that did you hear?" his unexpected voice shattered her thoughts, and she could see the Captain turn toward the far end of the patio, to where she stood, not as hidden by the shadows as she supposed.

"I didn't mean…" she stuttered, "You just appeared and I was…" she stepped forward, the moonlight bright enough for her to see him, and he her.

He merely smiled as he approached, a sad upward turn of the lips, no accusations. If only the ground beneath her feet could just swallow her whole, and yet, her body betrayed the hypocrisy of those thoughts as her heart continued to pound with reckless abandon.

"You will catch your dead out here without a coat," he said, looking her over momentarily. He then shrugged off his evening jacket and offered it to her. Maria shook her head.

"I shouldn't."

"I insist."

"People will talk."

"Let them."

She considered his words, his determination not wavered by hers, and she conceded. When he wrapped the jacket around her shoulder she instantly regretted the action, he smelled exactly the same, as though not a moment had past, and the Laendler had just ended. The sense of déjà-vu that had lingered all evening increased, and she quickly took a step back, putting some figurative distance between herself and the memory.

"How did you know I was out here?"

"I saw you retreating back into the shadows when I came out. I do apologize for Elsa's behavior, and that little showdown you were witness to just now. The Baroness and I, we have some..."

"You don't have to explain, Captain. If anything I should be the one apologizing to you."

His eyebrows shot up.

"You?"

"If I hadn't…I just never realized…" she trailed. She never realized what, exactly? That her presence two summers ago would have such a profound impact on an entire family? That, two years later, her sudden appearance caused more than a little controversy, deceitful accusations? She couldn't claim ignorance. She knew the children loved her, she knew that when she left that night and not returned her memory would linger. She might not attach much importance to herself, but that didn't mean others did the same. She'd locked them away behind a carefully constructed brick wall, never to be considered again.

"You couldn't have known," he said, and squeezed her arm, his fingers burning a hole in the fabric.

She looked down at where his hand touched her, and as if in a reflex she put hers over his, the touch surprising him as much as it did her. His hand blistered her skin, and she needed more, just a little bit more than a fleeting touch of the hands before she left tonight. She had missed him. She hadn't known how much until now, and it didn't make any common sense.

"But I did know," she whispered.

He saw the need, she didn't even try to hide it, and his other hand slid around her waist pulled her against him into a hug. Relief washed over her, a myriad of emotions burst from her chest as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her nose into the crook of his neck. His own hand trailing up her dress and coming around the back of her neck, where he pressed her closer to him, not intending to ever let go.

"I'm- so sorry," she repeated, the break in her voice announcing the impending flood that would soon follow.

His lips brushed against her temple, a breathless kiss accepting her apology, and it was all so familiar, so incredibly comfortable. His hand creased the blue fabric underneath the jacket, her chest against his, his breath heavy on her skin, and…

She abruptly pulled away

"Maria," he spoke, a heavy whisper freezing on an exhalation. He made an effort to compose himself, straightening the white bow around his neck, a gloved hand went through his ever greying hair. He was still so handsome.

" _Nothing's more irresistible to a man than a woman who's in love with him."_

Wordlessly, she pulled his jacket from her shoulder, the moment too intimate to be trusted, and the odor as intoxicating as his proximity. It dropped to the floor between them, clumsiness having nothing to do with it for once. Then she turned around, and without so much as a sideways glance, she went back inside.


	7. Chapter 7: Marry Me

You guys! I'm back! I do apologize for leaving the story off like I did. I kept going back and forth between liking and hating what I'd written in the last chapter, and that made it so hard for me to continue. I recently re-read the whole story and came to the conclusion that it does deserve a better ending than the horrible cliffhanger I left you with. I wrote the outline for this story about a year and a half ago, and in the past couple of weeks I tweaked it a little as to keep me motivated and excited for what's to follow.

But, I must warn you, I'm very busy with uni and moving at the moment. So, please bear with me. I might disappear and appear like a wild Pokémon. Then again, I won't take any offense if I discover you all abandoned this story long ago. Sporadic updaters are the worst. I so feel that.

To whoever is still reading and hoping for updates, thank you for sticking around! I will try, try, try hard not to abandon it for so long again.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Marry Me**

 _Salzburg, June 1927_

"You must marry me."

He'd popped the question in the form of an imperative; a sharp bend in the course of an otherwise unremarkable conversation.

"W-what?"

"Marry me," he repeated. "I promise we'll keep it modest, within the parameters of luck and possible prosperity, till death do us part."

"You're serious."

"Does this face ever look like its joking?" he said, pressing his costume made fake mustache to his upper lip with an index finger in an effort to make it stick, and her laugh.

"Tell me you're joking."

Another imperative, and where Maria's hand had confoundedly halted in midair, waiting for orders that never came, it now slowly retreated from inside the picnic basket. Her being furthermore arrested by an impending fear of declaratives, interrogatives and exclamations.

For a moment Bastian's smile faltered, sensing distress rather than presumed delight, and while his fingers reached for hers the mustache flitted down his lip, dismissed on grounds of ineffectiveness.

"Darling, over these past few months your constant company has made me happier than I could ever express in words; you are the most caring person; the most talented musician I have ever met. If my poor acting skills failed to convey so to you previously, then, let me now be evermore clear and display my deepest affections for you in the most spontaneous of manners. Be my wife; my dearest Maria, marry me."

"Bastian, I –" she sat up straighter, her spine snapping back into place; the picnic only half done, or, depending on one's perspective, only half begun.

"We could be married in the morrow and be out of Salzburg with the Company by sunset," he continued.

Maria frowned, an uncharacteristic quietness reigning in her earlier excitement. Over the past couple of months Bastian had become a dear friend, a true companion with humor that matched and challenged hers perfectly. His energy kept her on her toes, and the distraction of watching him, and, then thus, finding herself interacting with the cast of the traveling Shakespeare Company had come about so naturally, she now no longer felt shackled to the hull of her own sinking guilt and sorrow. No longer was she Maria the failed postulant, nor the heartbroken governess. She'd become the musician she'd always wanted to be instead, and had played, sung and danced in the background during the Company's performances.

She'd quickly made new friends; they'd _all_ become friends, and with an ease that seemed too impossible to imagine she now found that she had become part of the lives of another group of people who'd all instantly accepted her for her, and not for who she could be. She treasured her time with them, and after performances, when emotions ran high and Shakespearean battles had been fought, won and lost, she often found herself lamenting the imminent loss of those new friendships, as they would soon continue their way south to Salzburg's neighboring towns.

"Say you'll be me mine," Bastian implored.

She laughed. It was the only appropriate response, and instead of deterring his confidence Bastian joined in on the hysterics; laughing, until they both fell backwards on the blanket.

"You really are serious, aren't you?"

His expression sobered then.

"Yes."

She turned her attention to the sky, a few white fluffs vying for dominance over an intense blue; soon it would be shunned and all that'd be left would be a scalding yellow sun in a deep sea of blue. It really was too hot for this time of year, seasons out of place like a Pierrot in a circus act for clowns. She closed her eyes, concentrating on her own inner turmoil instead.

"I am fond of you, Bastian," she rolled her head to the side and found he was already scrutinizing her expression.

"But?"

"I've known that feeling you're talking about, and though I appreciate your spontaneity, you cannot feel that intensely for me," she sighed. "And I not for you."

His eyes narrowed, but she continued before presumptions could be made and shatter the foundation of their friendship.

"I love you as a brother, Bastian. Don't force that love and twist it into something vile."

"I could never do such a thing!" he retorted, offense lingering on the outer rim of sharp spoken consonants. "You misinterpret my intentions; I know that what I feel for you, what you feel for me, has potential. There is passion between us, which I know you can sense too; a fire that wishes to burn. Don't you believe that love founded in friendship makes for a better marriage than love forced upon people at the alter of birth?"

"That's not a fair comparison. Neither of us was ever promised to another at birth."

Bastian looked away, a deep melancholy scratching at the door of a history he had hidden behind a wall of secrets. She'd sensed there was more to him than meets the eye; it was one of the reasons why they understood each other so well. There was recognition in their interactions; a pain their souls had perceived in both and the other.

"Bastian?"

Maria sat up on her elbows.

He hesitated.

"You have," she concluded, an electrically charged tension cut through the recesses of her stomach. "You were promised to another at birth, weren't you? But how? Only the aristocracy gambles with lives in such a manner."

He looked away, stretching the moment until he could no longer deny the truth that lay in front of them.

"Maria, I wish you'd not ask me any more questions. You're too bright for your own good, you could give a scholar a run for his money."

She smirked, oddly flattered by such a blunt observation.

"Whatever past you've kept from me, it can hardly be as terrible as you think it is."

"You'd be surprised."

She frowned. There lay an intensity in those words that almost frightened her, and if she hadn't known Bastian as well as she thought she did, she might have been better prepared for what came next.

"I'll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours," she playfully pushed his shoulder, and smiled. He remained unmoved, betrayed by his own behavior.

"The truth is," he began. "I've not been completely honest with you, with any of you. In fact, for the longest of time I've been trying to hide the fact that Bastian is a persona I adopted five years ago. Maria, I wasn't always a poor beggar traveling with a group of performing gypsies; I wasn't even always Bastian Kracht."

"W-what are you saying?"

He turned on his side and scrutinized his fingers with exaggerated precision, then looked up and said:

"What I'm trying to tell you is that my name isn't Bastian Kracht."

She leaned away from him, more surprised than upset.

"My name is Baron Christian Friedrich Helmüt Schräder, and I hail from Vienna."

She shook her head as if to cast the confession from the dusty corners of her mind where it had already invaded and connected the impossible with the improbable. It took a second, and no longer to comprehend the coincidence, the sheer ridiculousness, which, in fact, had all along never been a coincidence.

"Schräder? Baroness Schräder?"

He nodded.

She shook her head again and slowly rose from the blanket. The sun and the clouds witness to a revelation so sly, so sophisticated; it was as though the wind, in its own disbelief, held its breath with her.

"Are you her cousin?"

Bastian bit his lip and then nodded.

She shook her head again, and again; a kaleidoscope of fragmented colors sprang into view, obstructing her vision, and her knees buckled under the weight of a sadness too heavy for her frame to carry.

"I'm so sorry Maria. I never meant for this to play out the way it did. I never expected to care for you this deeply," he desperately continued, reaching for her in an attempt to steady her frame, but she pushed his hand away.

"She send for you? To what? Spy on me?"

"No, it was never like that. I…" he knelt down beside her, bending his fingers in awkward angles, distracting himself from the guilt, the deceit.

"I kept in touch with aunt Elsa when I joined the Company five years ago. The Company, everything about our travels is true. But my companions don't know that I'm a baron, nor, do I hope you will enlighten them now that you do know. Bastian already existed when I met you, but I _never_ created him to hurt or fool anyone, nor to trick or spy on you. My fake persona made it possible for me to have the life Christian never had but always hungered for; I, as Bastian am able to be the person that I was meant to be and at the same time I can be with the people I consider my true family. My passion is and always will be Shakespeare. I will never stop traveling. Aunt Elsa knew about my passions, and she was the only Schräder in the family who encouraged me to leave high-society behind, to follow my dreams. And over the years she's attended many of our Companies performances, hails the path I have chosen for myself, and all this time she has kept my secret. Therefore, I owed her a great debt, which I didn't know how to repay. But then, when our Company arrived in Salzburg a couple of months ago she suggested I visit a bookshop on the outskirts of town. She said a lovely young lady worked there, one she'd done a great injustice and might be in need of a friend. I could not deny her, not after all that she had done for me."

Maria dropped her head to her knees, unable to speak or think as the facade twisted itself into a distorted image in her mind. What was true, and what was not a question nobody could answer.

"Maria," she felt his hand on her shoulder, comforting despite the complexity of his true intentions.

"I do truly love you. I do truly wish to marry you. Please, you must not think that I am trying to exact revenge on you in name of my aunt. Elsa explained the nature of the injustice she has done to you, and how that may have destroyed your previous life. I wish to built a life with you, not destroy it."

She looked up, red stains blistering her cheeks.

"You knew everything about me? All this time?" she asked with such urgency it momentarily startled him mute.

He nodded.

She hadn't told him. She hadn't told anyone but Victor, and even Victor didn't know the details. She'd been under the impression that nobody aside from the people involved knew a thing; her time spent as a postulant, or as a governess at the von Trapp villa. But Bastian, Christian, whoever he was knew all about it, had known all along.

The folds in her forehead deepened.

"Please, leave," she said.

"Maria –"

"I need some time; I need to think."

Silence stretched between them, then he nodded.

"Very well."

His knees cracked as he stood, fragile like those of an old man's; aged within minutes instead of years. He didn't look back as he made his way down the mountain, but he wanted to, suppressed the urge to do so.

She needed to think; she needed to disappear.

* * *

Once again, will probably edit this chapter a little afterwards. I always edit chapters extensively while I'm writing them, but somehow I never manage to catch all of my mistakes in one go. Either way, not going to lie, the next chapter will be quite something. Hope you stick around! And thanks again for reading!


End file.
